


No Sugar Tonight

by ossapher



Series: The Macaroniverse -- Lams Modern AU [13]
Category: American Revolution RPF
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, fluffy and happy, modern medicine saves the day, they work things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ossapher/pseuds/ossapher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Figuring out they liked one another was a challenge, but figuring out what they wanted to do about it was... a little easier.</p><p>(In which Alex and John are bashful until they are not.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sugar Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Alex has H.I.V. in this verse-- for backstory, please refer to "Bullet Points." I am not is/r/a/a and did not know her. She has deleted her ao3. I have never represented myself as having any medical conditions I do not have. I have never solicited donations based on my work.
> 
> So many thanks, as always, to [scioscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe) and [herowndeliverance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance). 

"No Alex today?" is the first thing John’s doctor asks after she walks into the room.

"Yeah, no Alex," John says. It makes sense that she’d be curious— she’s probably talked more with Alex about John’s health than she has with John, at this point. “He had class. I mean, he wanted to be here, but I kind of… made him go.” Alex has already missed so much work, and anyway, this is a simple visit that’ll take all of half an hour. There's no reason John can't handle it on his own.

The doctor looks concerned. “Are you guys doing all right?"

“What, me and Alex? Yeah, we're good."

"And how's the arm?"

"Arm's..." John plucks at the sling dispiritedly. "Arm's pretty useless right now, but," — _don't be such a fucking downer_ — "but, I mean, it's early, I've been working on it in PT. I just...need to be patient."

The doctor nods. "Rehab can be frustrating. I understand that. A lot of people go through what you're going through."

"Yeah," John nods. _Man up, for fuck's sake._ "Actually, I'm not here about my arm."

"Oh?"

"I'm here to see if I could maybe— um.” He clears his throat. “I don’t know if you know this, but Alex has H.I.V.”

The doctor’s face is suddenly a polite mask. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss a particular patient’s medical information with another person without proper authorization from the—”

“Right, HIPAA. Yes. I’m... very familiar with HIPAA.” _Deep breath. Get to the point._ “I'm here to get a prescription for… you know, the stuff you take so you don’t catch H.I.V. from someone. PrEP."

The doctor's eyebrows go up, and she grins with delight. "O-oh," she says, "so... you and Alex are _very_ good."

"Yeah," John laughs, a slight flush coming to his face. "Yeah, we're that."

"Well hey, congrats!"

John accepts a lefty high five, and his doctor launches into a detailed account about what PrEP does, how it works, et cetera. It's all stuff he and Alex already went through online—curled up together in John’s bed, Alex’s laptop balanced precariously on his hip—but John’s face starts getting warm in spite of himself.

Then the doctor says, “And of course, you’ll have to be careful about your shoulder,” and starts making some _very_ specific recommendations and John is gamely nodding along and trying to pay attention to what she’s saying instead of how his ears are suddenly flaming hot. It's funny, because he's strutted down P street wearing only a speedo and a gallon of glitter paint for Pride, but for some reason talking to his doctor one-on-one about the (ahem) act itself is still awkward as fuck.

It had been a little awkward with Alex, too, actually—they’re so physically compatible Alex seems to know exactly what John wants before John’s even able to say it, but… well, John knows that they’re not going to be able to handle everything that way. For a while there they hadn’t even broached the subject of sex— _if_ they were going to have it, _when_ they were going to have it, what they were going to do about Alex’s H.I.V.—and John had thought that both he and Alex were content exploring all the wonderful things you could do without… well, without. And John knows that he’s Alex’s first male partner (not counting the occasional unreciprocated college blowjob) and had been content letting Alex escalate things if and when he was comfortable.

Other parts of John had apparently disagreed, though, because he’d moaned out _God, Alex, wanna fuck you so bad_ one night, and thankfully instead of being scandalized Alex had sat him down and said, "Yes, John, I agree that would be nice, but here's what that's gonna entail..."

John has a feeling Alex didn't think he would go through with it. That he'd run away scared when Alex had reminded him that he had H.I.V.— like John had somehow forgotten that, like his heart doesn’t ache every time he sees how meticulously careful Alex is with him, how even when Alex is hot and sweaty and wildly turned on there’s always a part of him distant and vigilant and ready to retreat at a moment’s notice—for John’s sake. He wants to help Alex let go. No, more than that: he wants to take Alex apart on a Friday night, make him howl and speak in tongues, wants to drive every thought out of his mind except maybe the thought of how _good_ he feels. He wants to go slow and lazy on a Saturday morning and watch Alex lose himself inch by inch, wants to hold him in his arms afterwards, sleepy and boneless and satisfied.

Hence, PrEP.

“And it really works 90% of the time,” John says, shifting in his seat and hoping that his lurid fantasies aren’t showing on his face. “We read that online and Alex really wanted me to confirm that.”

“When used as directed, yes,” the doctor nods. “It’s probably the single most effective way for you to protect yourself from H.I.V.”

“Wow,” John says softly. “Yeah, science.”

That earns him another high-five. “I just need to check your other medications for any contraindications, and we’ll be ready to go,” the doctor says.

“... right.” Alex had kept the printouts of every single work order and scan and prescription in a single folder, which now bulges precariously and contains, John estimates, about the same amount of paperwork as that produced by all of Ming dynasty China. Just the thought of having to go through it all makes John panic a little, but wait. There's a sticky note on the front in Alex's handwriting. It says "current medications" in neat letters at the top, and underneath is a bullet point list with brand names, generic names, and dosages. John hands the sticky note to the doctor.

"Hey," she says, as she's writing up his prescription, "this is a little off-topic, but is Alex looking for a job?"

"A job?" John frowns. "Uh, no, he's in law school... why?"

"Oh, just something my sister's getting set up. She's got a tech startup and she was looking for a personal assistant. I just thought of how efficient he was with all this. Talented guy. Figures he's in law school."

"Yeah, I'll... I'll let him know, but I doubt he'll go for it. He's not really the, uh, personal assistant type." John fidgets, and stands to leave as she scribbles her signature at the bottom of the printout.

The doctor has some last words for him: “Just to remind you— the medication isn’t fully effective until you’ve been taking it for—”

John groans. He and Alex talked about this, too. “Yeah, I know. A week.”

***

John mulls things over on the bus ride home from the pharmacy. A week. When taking into account, say, all human history, a week is really not that long to wait. On the other hand, that’s 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. Some really high number of seconds.

He gets that song from _Rent_ that he sang in high school choir stuck in his head, but really, he has no one to blame but himself for that.

“Alex,” he yells, as he comes in the front door and kicks off his shoes, “help me get a better song stuck in my head, I’m in serious pain here—”

Alex is sitting at the kitchen table, and he looks up at John with a slight smirk when he walks in. Which is… normal…right? John tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what’s wrong with the picture.

Alex isn’t… doing anything? He’s just sitting at the table? No books? No laptop? No phone, no notebook, no magazines, no newspaper?

There’s a plain paper sack on the table, and John, with a glance at Alex to make sure it’s okay, takes a peek inside.

“Oh, wow,” John says. God dammit, he only just recovered from the blush he had at the doctor’s office and now he’s back at square one. “You, uh... you went shopping."

Alex stands, his smirk intensifying, and drapes his arms around John's neck. "I figured we'd find a way to keep occupied."

"Wow, I’ve never, I mean… uh…” Alex's smirk fades slightly, and something in his dark eyes goes uncertain, and no, John was just _surprised_ , that's all; he never wants Alex to be uncertain about where they stand. John leans in and kisses him soundly, backing him up against the table, pressing their bodies together, tugging out the elastic that holds Alex's ponytail and letting his hair spill everywhere just like he likes. "No wonder random-ass people wanna give you jobs—"

"Huh?" Alex pulls back, eyebrows raised in clear confusion.

"Somebody needed a secretary or something. I told them—"

"I don't think so."

"— _that_ , I told them that, but you realize, Alex, you're gonna have this problem forever because you're so obviously such a _genius_ —"

"Don't," Alex laughs, his cheeks flushing dark. John leans in again and starts kissing down his neck, grinding him against the table. "You're being—that word, it's just—"

"What, _genius_?" John says again, grinding harder, feeling Alex's face heat suddenly against his own.

"Come on," Alex hisses. "Don't—don't start with—well, don't _stop_ —"

"See, I knew you'd come 'round to my point of view..."

"Oh, fuck you, John," Alex gasps.

"Well, sure, let's see what you've got in the sack—"

Alex groans. Not a sex groan: a bad-pun groan, but even when he puts on a mock-stern expression his face glows. John kisses him once to apologize for being a bit of a shit just then, and then kisses him again, just because. "I knew you'd come around to my point of view," Alex says, his smirk from earlier returning, crackling and alive and hungry.

John's pulse quickens. “Oh," he says, "this is gonna be a fun week.”


End file.
